


Marco Polo

by AdelineAround



Series: Water Sports [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Boss/Employee Relationship, Bottom Hank, Drinking, Grinding, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mutual Pining, Omorashi, Oral Sex, Orgasm, Rimming, Rough Kissing, Top Connor, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 10:12:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17486216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdelineAround/pseuds/AdelineAround
Summary: Hank has a teeny-tiny crush on the bar owner Connor Stern. And, though Connor and his brother, RK, have many kinks they like to indulge in, it does not deter Hank.Thankfully, Connor is a man who is confident in what he wants. Tonight, a certain Hank Anderson is on his list ofThings ToDo.





	Marco Polo

**Author's Note:**

> This completes the two-part series of Water Sports.  
> I apologize for the near three-month wait for this ConHank piece. Life never stopped for anyone and, hell, it wasn't courteous to stop for me.

It is a very calm night at the bar, for which Hank Anderson is grateful for.

He is tired. He has had enough with drunken fights, and the police showing up in front of the place whenever someone starts spewing their stomach contents on the floor or against the walls. He gets sick just thinking about the small talk that the bar’s patrons have every night, whether it be about the ice hockey match playing on TV or the twenty-one questions new couples ask on their first date. He does not even necessarily care for the booze served here, though he knows he will be drinking until the morning sun rises after his shift.

Hank is so tired. And yet, here he is, making sure that RK Stern, brother of Connor Stern, stays safe tonight.

Hank is cleaning a mug when RK’s mystery man walks through the bar doors. He is obviously unfamiliar with this place, judging by the way he scans the room nervously before taking a seat at the bar. Hank has never seen him before, either; Hank prides himself in knowing who stays around this part of town.

“A beer, pale or whatever you’ve got,” says RK’s date. He has a prominent scar on his nose, still healing after the scab phase.

Hank decides to set down the freshly wiped mug he is drying, then picks up another sterile stein, nodding at the man before deciding on a pale ale for the lad.

Hank is not much of a talker when it comes to business like this. He supposes he could converse if he wants to, but there is no need to. He sets the beverage down in front of his patron with a small nod.

“Thanks,” the man says before lifting his glass at Hank in a form of cheers, then downs a few big gulps.

RK does not emerge from the backroom for another three minutes, though it is already ten o’clock, the time that RK is supposed to meet with his… date, for a lack of a better term. Hank assumes that it is one of RK’s tactics, to seem less stoic, less type A; less of an asshole and more human, if Hank is allowed to put it into layman terms.

Watching as the date unfolds, Hank also busies himself around the bar. He makes sure the place is spic and span; not even a smidge of dust (as far as Hank can see) is present when RK and his date stumble their way up the stairs and to RK’s suite.

Ah, young love.

What it would be like to experience that again.

It is not like Hank does not have a chance at falling for someone again. But, in a sense, he already has: Connor Stern, his boss and the bar’s co-owner, is the closest person that Hank would consider having _a crush_ on. Not only is he very attractive, he is also kind, emotive and pretty solid on what he wants. He was not afraid to hire Hank on the spot, when Hank had deemed it was time for him to work a part-time job after retiring from the police department. Connor had stuck his hand out right after hearing the man talk about himself for ten minutes tops, offering him a handshake to accept the job offer.

Hank will never forget the way Connor’s brown eyes sparkled in the golden light of four o’clock that day, looking like pools of ambered honey that threatened to swallow him whole. He swore he felt his heart pound up against his ribs, mouth slightly agape as he took Connor’s hand and shook it firmly. He wanted to show how serious he was about taking work here at the bar. He wanted to prove himself that he could respect and admire Connor, even if it was only from a professional distance.

Hank gets so lost in his own thought, hands all the while cleaning, stacking glasses and mugs, taking and fulfilling drink orders, that it is five minutes ‘til closing when the man hears a loud thunk from the ceiling above.

It rattles the decor hanging from the walls and ceiling a bit; the pair of ice skates, tacked further away from the bar, swing with dangerously sharp elegance. RK must be having fun upstairs with his date, Hank figures.

The bar and lobby is empty, save for the furniture and TV monitors blaring. Hank guesses it is time to clean up shop and start heading home for the day.

Well, he _thinks_ it is time to go home, at least, because Connor saunters through the establishment, empty-handed from his night out.

Even for Connor, that is strange. Usually, he is one to come home with someone in tow.

“No luck this week?” Hank asks, and it is the first sentence he has said since the beginning of the night.

Connor smiles back at the man, calm but cheery as usual. “Good evening to you, too, Hank. Well, morning, actually. It’s late now.”

Hank shakes his head. Connor, always ever-polite.

“I just figured,” Hank continues his train of thought, “That you would have indulged in whatever you and your brother have listed openings for tonight.”

Ah, yes. RK and Connor always open up slots once a week to have a date, bring them home, relish in their kinks, and send their one-night-stands on their merry way. It helps take the off the stress of commitment, of fearing that a hook-up at a bar might go wrong, though RK and Connor are the ones who _own_ a bar, and know their neighboring clubs personally.

Maybe Hank should stop feeling a little overprotective over the twins, as they are grown men after all, but something inside him grows restless if one of them look down after their planned shenanigans.

“You didn’t check RK’s posting?” Connor undoes the buttons on his coat, shucking it off his frame before tossing it on the counter. “No one else took up the second slot.” He points to himself with a thumb. “I’m the second slot,”

Hank chuffs a laugh when Connor imitates RK’s very stoic expression, thumb still aimed at his face, “You know I’m no good with technology nowadays, Connor. I could barely figure out how to use e-mail when it first came out. Believe it or not, that was revolutionary back in the day.”

Connor’s smile graduates to a grin. “I believe it, Hank. You don’t need to prove how _ancient_ you are to me.”

“Hm,” Hank grunts, but the point is made.

He wipes down the sink, still busy completing his after-closing checklist of things to do. Another _wham_ and _plonk_ comes from upstairs, and Hank hates to imagine how rough RK is being with his gruff, little date. More importantly, he wills himself not to envision how Connor would be, fucking the brains out of someone in his apartment up on the third floor.

“RK sure sounds like he’s having a great time,” Connor comments after the ceiling rattles for the third time.

Hank has to keep it together, nearly dropping one of the stirring spoons he is sorting away. He hears Connor chortle silently, ruffling his moderate, brown locks of hair, meandering around the central bar Hank is standing in, and stopping only to take a clean glass from the stack Hank _just_ organized.

“Whiskey, please.” He shoves the cup at Hank in one hand. “I’m not sure I’ll survive the night without a drink.”

Hank sighs, but obliges his boss. He grabs the whiskey bottle, checking the date before unstopping it and pouring Connor a lukewarm glass. “RK must be enjoying himself,” he surmises.

Connor hums, taking a fair sip of his drink. He holds it on his tongue, reveling in the burn of alcohol, then rolls it in his mouth before swallowing. Hank expects him to respond with something snarky in return, but what comes next is something he is not expecting.

When a muffled moan comes from upstairs, Connor sets off into his theatrics, “‘Oh, yeah, baby, mooore.’” He plays up in time to the shuffling his brother and his date make on the upper level of the building. “‘Come on, give me that golden shower like a good boy.’”

He ends his spiel in laughter, clearly joking about both RK’s and his kink; watersports.

But, oh, Connor does not _know_ what that does to Hank, who his gripping onto the counter end so hard, the polished wood might just shatter into splinters. His cock twitches at each word, blood rushing south so fast that Hank feels dizzy from it. His knuckles turn white at the force of which he balls his hands into fists, releasing the counter from his death grip. His belly quivers again the wood. He knows his pants are tenting, feeling shame crawl into his cheeks as he grits his back teeth, his working jaw thankfully concealed by his greying beard.

“Connor…” He breathes almost unconsciously, but he catches himself and follows up with, “I should really get home if you’re turning in for the night.”

Connor turns his face just slightly and, by god, does he look absolutely wicked like that. His head tilts just a bit, letting the dim lighting of the bar cascade over the high points of his visage. There comes a glint in his eye, one that was not there just moments before. The more Hank looks, the more he takes in every angle of Connor’s being, brain attempting to burn the image of the bar owner into his mind’s eye.

And then Connor is making his way towards the bartender, staring Hank down with his tawny, midnight eyes. His hips sway with every step forward, his presence so strong that Hank feels metaphorically and physically pinned where he stands. It is like Connor is the predator, ears cocked forward, zoned in on his prey dubbed Hank Anderson.

“You don’t really mean that, now do you?” he mutters, each syllable clicking against the roof of his mouth on the way out.

No, he does not mean it. Hank cannot say anything, for he is too stupefied by the way Connor walks. He is enticing enough for Hank to forget what lame excuse he is about to lay down.

Connor is a smart man, and catches on quick, using Hank’s silence as an opportunity to propose an extracurricular activity tonight.

“You know, Hank,” he continues, sidling up to the bartender. “It’s not always easy to find someone who can appreciate the same kinks RK and I have.” He presses both hands on either side of Hank’s big belly, eliciting a gasp from Hank. “So to see someone who not only works for me, but also be in favor of it makes me wonder if you’ve ever wanted to experience a night, as well.”

Well, did he? Hank struggles to push his desire down, to dampen it by saying that what he wants and what should happen are two completely different things. He could not bear to fuck his boss… could he?

“I think you got this wrong, Connor,” he tries to put it gently, but it comes out clipped and rough.

Connor’s face darkens then, but his smile stays put. “No, _Hank_ ,” he says, all sing-songy. “I’m never wrong. I see the way you look at me.”

Hank just wants to close his eyes, clamp his ears shut, because he is afraid of hearing it. Hearing just how obvious he is being.

“It’s not easy, you know,” Connor drawls on, and his hands stroke Hank’s sides determinedly. “I’m no profiler, but I’ve noticed how you perk up when I’m around.” He moves upwards, toward Hank’s shoulders, rubbing around them like a massage to relax the ex-policeman. “How your gaze trails wherever I go, even if it is just for a moment. You’re always cleaning us up after our gigs, RK and me, even though it is not in your job description. You never had to, Hank, but you still did. You think I’m not looking when you adjust your pants around me, but I see it. I see when you rush out the door after closing time, just so you can jack off frustratingly in your car before you go home.” Connor gleams as he continues, pressing his fingers to the thick column of Hank’s neck, “So, how, after all these months, do you keep your cool around me? Don’t you feel like indulging once in a while?”

Had Connor really seen him masturbate in his old Chevy after work hours? Hank’s face is becoming so hot with the possibility that he might just implode. Still, everything Connor has pointed out is embarrassingly, shamefully true. Hank does all of these things, if not more.

Part of him wants to push Connor away, tell him he is wrong, that he has misunderstood the situation, but the other says that Connor is capable of seeing right through his bullshit; that Hank should tell the truth, only the truth and nothing but the truth, so help him God.

Connor, only some inches shorter than big ol’ Hank, peers up at him with his big, doe-like eyes, but the way he squints them, as if analyzing the man, makes him look like a conniving leopard. He has got his arms around Hank, body close up against the bartender’s, with an obvious bulge in his jeans.

“What’s it going to be, Hank?” Connor croons, “I’m giving you an option: come to bed with me, or don’t.”

“F-fuck,” is all Hank can utter before Connor’s lips are descending upon his.

The kiss is whiskey-tinted, alcohol burning in both their mouths. Hank’s prickly beard must be chafing over Connor’s jaw, but the bar owner does not seem to care, instead deepening their topical meld of flesh further. A groan bubbles from Hank’s throat and into Connor’s hot cavern as they open up their lips to meet tongue with tongue. The two of them mingle at first, testing the waters, before gaining boldness, twisting with one another and teasing.

They chase each other from mouth to mouth, running on the limited breath that is stored in their balloon-like lungs. Connor flits the tip of his tongue with Hank’s then, and he initiates somewhat of a impromptu tango. It is scorching, them two together; a dance unlike anything Hank has ever experienced. He does not notice when his own two arms shoot up to hold Connor’s lean, strong biceps, keeping the man to him as he experimentally grinds his confined erection against Connor’s.

Connor breaks the kiss for air, but also so he can let the sound elicit through the facility, “Oh!”

“Connor,” Hank groans when the man ruts back, sending shivers of pleasure down both their spines.

“Is this a yes?” Connor pants. He does not wait for Hank to answer, declaring, “I’m taking this as a yes.”

Hank chuckles, biting down on his bottom lip when Connor trails kisses up Hank’s neck, sucking at the carotid pulse, as Hank’s bushy beard prevents him from going up further along his jaw.

“My apartment… my bedroom, my _bed_ now,” Connor murmurs as soon as he lets Hank up, much to the bartender’s dismay. “And lock the doors. We’re done serving customers for the night.”

Hank blinks, getting his bearings back. “You mean, you don’t want any onlookers here?” He wiggles his eyebrows at Connor, who sighs with a smile on his face.

“Hank, you know my kink is about _urination_ , not exhibitionism,” he says matter-of-factly.

Hank makes haste in flipping the sign on the doors to “CLOSED”, locking them thereafter. When he turns, Connor is already pouring himself another drink, downing it in a practiced, unwincing gulp.

“I know, I know,” Hank flushes as he realizes what Connor is doing; racking up his fluids so he can have better performance later on tonight.

Connor stops the bottle of whiskey to grab for the glass bottle of tequila. Hank watches him as he takes a shot of the firewater. How sexy does Connor Stern look when he is drinking… Hank does not know if there is anything that can top this image.

When Connor places his shot glass in the sink, he says, “I’ll clean this in the morning.” He reaches a hand out at Hank then, “Come on. Up to my room.”

Hank nods, everything else forgotten as he is sucked into Connor’s devoted attention for him. Accepting the offered hand, he leads them to the side door, opening it to usher Connor to the stairs. He makes to press Connor against the wall, to steal a kiss, but Connor shoves him away playfully. All the while, he keeps his fingers laced with Hank’s.

“No time,” he reasons. “I need to fuck you _now_.”

And, holy shit, if that does not get Hank’s blood pumping south, he does not know what does.

He stares dumbly until Connor is pulling him along, up the stairs and down the hallway, where they can hear RK punching out moans from his partner for the night in the other flat. Connor rolls his eyes at that, but it seems to arouse Hank further. Something about this whole scenario is exciting, lighting Hank’s veins on fire, as if they were made of kerosene.

“This way,” Connor says, nearly shoving the apartment key into the keyhole.

He twists it, jimmying it out of there before kicking open the door, too impatient to care about the loud bang it makes through the hallway.

“Whoa,” Hank wobbles when Connor grabs him by the nape and pins him to the wall when the front door finally shuts and the apartment lights go on.

Then, the bar owner is on him, ravishing Hank with his mouth, hands grabbing at whatever they can get. Hank groans, tilting his head so Connor can gain purchase on his neck again; suck a dark hickey into his skin while they grind against one another again. He wants more, though. There is nothing he wants more than to proceed on with this night.

“Bedroom,” he croaks, and Connor bites him hard before leading the way.

Though Connor’s house looks as pristine and drab with all the white walls and grey accents, his bedroom is nothing short of extravagant. When Connor turns on the light, Hank notices how blue everything is. Sky blue mixes with wispy lace cerulean around the bookshelves. The light reflecting off Connor’s aquarium casts ripples of water around the space.

Even the duvet cover that Hank is jostled onto is the color of a lake, and Hank seems to swim in the pleasure Connor gives him thereafter.

“Enough kissing,” Connor all but whines when Hank surges up to steal one from his kiss-swollen lips. “Clothes, off.”

Connor is clearly getting impatient, but his enthusiasm is too great for Hank to feel like he is being rushed. Hank makes do with his pants first, thumbs catching his boxers along in the process. His heartbeat thrums fast again, this time up in his throat, when Connor lets out a growl, so low that it shocks Hank to the core. He allows his lower articles of clothing to fall off the bed, kicking his sticky shoes and walked-in socks off next.

“Faster,” Connor commands, his own hands wrestling his coat, shirt and pants off.

They gaze at each other, soaking up how one another looks without their clothing. Hank, though he has seen Connor void of clothing _once_ before (it was a bad time, and Connor was off-his-rocker drunk), he does not think he will ever get used to how utterly handsome the bar owner looks.

Connor is nothing short of show-stopping in the buff. He is tall, lean, but still built with extraordinarily strong muscles. Hank had once seen him carry a heavy shipment box with ease into the bar like it weighed the equivalent of a feather. That does not take his fair, creamy skin, riddled with light smatterings of cinnamon freckles. A few moles are present here and there, but they only add to the man’s beauty. His high cheekbones radiate significance. Expressive eyebrows frame coffee eyes that mesmerize Hank to no end. His lips, slightly parted, are pinkest towards the middle, quaint yet still tantalizingly plush for their size.

And, _oh_ , when Connor scoots back to rid himself of his jeans, Hank is in awe of the sheer girth that strains at its confines.

Hank sits up immediately, folding into a crawling position as he brings his face closer to Connor’s obvious arousal. He can smell the delicious musk wafting from Connor, as though his body produces its own exquisite cologne. He gives a timid lick over Connor’s clothed organ.

“Oh, fuck,” Connor breathes out, cock pulsing at the sudden action.

His eyes are so wide as he watches Hank mouths over his twitching member, the dampness Hank’s tongue brings over the cotton of Connor’s boxers so much hotter than he would have ever imagined to be.

Hank traces over Connor’s large shape, laving up the underside of it before finding the head, teasing at it gently with the tip of his tongue. He flicks his pupils up to meet Connor’s, noticing how dark the man’s eyes have become, with the deep black expanding until there is only the rings of rich chocolate irises.

He shudders when he feels steady hands weave into his silvery locks of hair, nails dragging softly over his scalp. Connor brings him in for more, keeping Hank’s face from moving away. Hank opens his mouth wide, beginning to suck Connor through his briefs. He does not falter in his actions, humming when the bar owner massages his head, brushing through his hair to undo any knots that might have tangled throughout the evening.

With a gasp, Connor finally lets Hank up to remove his underwear.

“You devil,” Connor grunts, but it is _he_ who has the devilish glare in his eyes. “You almost made me leak.”

Hank almost moans at that possibility. What would it be like to have Connor release; to have him spray Hank golden? He would have never thought he himself would share the same kink, but his body proves otherwise, because he is growing hard as a rock.

Just then, Connor switches their positions, pouncing Hank so he lies once again on the bed. They wrestle the bartender’s shirt off, ripping one of the seams, but neither of them can care at this point. If anything, Connor can get him a new one later. Too horny for reason, Connor zones in on the way Hank’s platinum chest hair grows in swirls.

It is… adorable, he thinks, though Hank says otherwise. His sight roams to the man’s nipples, which are starting to pebble from the prolonged exposure to the air. They are so dusty pink; Connor cannot help but take one between his lips.

“Ah!” Hank yelps, but it comes out more like a squeak.

Connor swirls his tongue just the right way around the areola of Hank’s nipple, feeling each groove of the puckered flesh. His other nipple is latched onto by the man’s pretty fingers that pinch it into a hard nub.

Small sparks of pleasure spew from his nerves and back to his brain; Hank gasps at the feeling of Connor stimulating his chest. It feels good to have someone other than himself play with them, the wet slide of Connor’s oral muscle drawing circles on his chest. It feels good, and Hank wants to reciprocate, but Connor keeps him from wiggling too much, already moving down the bartender’s body.

“Be good for me, _lieutenant_.” Connor uses Hank’s old title from the police department, and Hank thinks he might just faint.

Instead, he feels the ruddy color of a blush on his cheeks trickle down to his jaw and down his neck. His cock throbs when Connor calls him “lieutenant”. He has always had a thing for titles of authority, but never like this. Being with Connor, even for this short while, has unlocked so many things about Hank that he had not known about himself in all fifty-three years he has been on this earth.

“Only if you give me the night of my life, _boy_ ,” Hank quips back without thinking, but it proves to strike a chord in Connor.

Connor is suddenly whining high and needy, kissing where Hank’s xyphoid process is before sucking bites at the rise of the man’s stomach. His hands free themselves in favor of encircling Hank’s manhood and earning a sigh of ecstasy. Then, he is stroking upwards, spit slicking his lips when he looks back up at Hank.

His eyes are huge as he tells the bartender, “Call me that again.”

“What?” Hank’s thick eyebrows lift in surprise. He looks smug as he replies, “You like me addressing you as what you are, boy?”

He draws out the name out long and slow, witnessing the full body shiver that goes through Connor.

All too suddenly, Connor is twisting his wrist upon Hank’s erection, and Hank swears that his eyes cross from the action. The dynamic shifts and, once again, Connor is control.

“I’m so _full_ , Hank. My bladder is so full,” groans Connor, as on cue as ever. “Please, I need to go.”

Hank does not know what to do, but he guesses anyway, “Where do you need to go?”

The question is weird on his tongue, but he does not stop himself from saying it. Hell, maybe he should have done at least a little research on watersports, but how was he to know that Connor would want to play out a scene with him?

Connor looks as if everything is as right as rain, which gives Hank a little hope that he has not fucked everything up with his lack of experience.

“In,” Connor begins, clearing his throat when his voice teeters off in the slightest manner.

“In, where?”

“In you,” Connor finally says.

It blows both of them away; those two, simple words of direction. Both Connor and Hank’s imaginations fly rapidly through all sorts of scenarios, curious as to know which one will pan out in the near future. Hank’s pelvic muscles clench the tiniest bit at that, arousal getting the better of him; clouding any rationality left in his brain.

Hank lolls his head back on the bed, shifting to make himself more comfortable. “So do it, boy. Do it in me.”

Connor gulps silently, but Hank sees the way his Adam’s apple bobs with the action. Instead of responding verbally, the bar owner is propels forward, hiking up Hank’s legs so fast that the man cries at the force. Connor lets him up a little, but still holds firm on how he wants Hank.

“I’m not that flexible anymore,” Hank explains, keeping his legs open for Connor nevertheless.

“Mm,” Connor hums. “Then up. On all fours, lieutenant. I need to prep you, unless you want it to hurt.”

With that, Hank turns around and balances, distributing his weight on both his forearms and knees. Connor spreads the man’s meaty thighs, appreciating the view of Hank’s voluptuous ass. Light colored fur, not grey like Hank’s hair but very similar to, is lined around Hank’s entrance. Connor reaches out to touch it, laughing when Hank withdraws a bit from the unexpected touch… only to arch his back in a plea for more.

“You like that, huh?” Connor croons sweetly as his nimble index finger circles over Hank’s tight pucker called entrance, “Go on. Wink that pretty little hole for me.”

Connor licks his lips predatorily as he watches Hank’s pink sphincter contract, unfurl, then contract once again in an erotic manner. At least, that is how it presents itself to the bar owner; he is just about drooling at the sight. He would jerk off to Hank, if his bladder was not so full to the point of bursting. Besides, he wants to save all the precious liquid for when he is _in_ Hank.

He groans, “Oh, lieutenant. You are so sexy.”

Hank? Sexy? Sure, maybe when Hank was in his twenties, he would be considered sexy. But now? The man is not so sure. Though, if Connor thinks that he is attractive, then so be it. He thinks Connor is fucking majestic, so handsome that Hank would do anything for him.

Before he can think anything more, though, Connor is shuffling around behind him. A drawer by the bed is pulled open, rummaged through, then shut just as quickly. Following is the sound of a cap snapping open, and an audible squirt of viscous liquid into Connor’s open palm.

Lube, supplies Hank’s mind. Connor is going to stretch him nice and good before they rail. Sucking on the tongue in his mouth, Hank finds himself arching his back in anticipation. He cannot wait to feel that slick substance coat him inside out.

Hank squeaks the tiniest bit when lukewarm fingers, temperature most likely from the combination of Connor’s natural heat and the coolness of the lubrication, paint a stripe over his waiting hole.

“Stay put, Hank.” Connor cannot help but giggle.

His fingertip delves into Hank, popping inside with only the slightest of resistance. It has been so long since Hank has been fingered, and the single digit is already breaching him in a way that feels strange. He huffs out the air building in his chest.

Connor is careful, though. He teases only a little, pushing in and pulling out slowly. It does not even sting when he adds the second finger, resuming his motions with a tiny crook of his fingertips. Hank bites down on his lower lip, feeling how Connor gently scrapes against the walls of his entrance. He is searching, angling his wrist differently each time. Then, he begins to scissor Hank open with those double digits, keeping him open for a few milliseconds more each time.

“You are so pink inside,” Connor comments, words slurring together in the faintest of ways. “What do you say? Would you take a glass plug for me one day, so I can see your pretty insides?”

Hank whines, air whistling out of the gap between his incisors, “Connor,”

“Hank,” Connor adds a third and final phalange, pulsing them within the man. “I have wanted to do this with you for _so long_.” His pelvis quivers, reminding him that time is ticking; not waiting for anyone. “You’d look so good filled with me.”

By god, Hank does not know if he should be frightened or aroused, but the latter wins him over when Connor teases over the bundle of nerves deep within him. He groans, cock twitching beneath his sizeable belly. He imagines how Connor would inject him with his fluids, make him leak out absolutely everywhere when they were done. And, when Hank feels like they are finally finished, Connor would release his bladder upon him, scorch Hank with that golden liquid, and let him soak until he begged to wash up in the bath.

He shivers, anticipation niggling at his mind. They both need to hurry before it is too late. Like any human, Connor can only hold out so long.

“Ah!” Hank squeals when something smooth and slick lathes around his pucker. “Oh my fuckin’... Connor,”

He whips his head around to see Connor’s face buried between his cheeks, dislodging his fingers in favor of licking over Hank’s rosy entrance. Hank relaxes his neck, letting his head drop into the sheets as he succumbs to the feel of Connor’s _tongue_ upon him. The man rolls that muscle over the grooves of Hank’s hole, plunging inside just a centimeter before leaving it. It’s a taunting gesture, both of them know, but Hank likes the tickle and arousal pooling in his stomach.

Unfortunately, when Connor teases someone, he is also teasing himself. He cannot afford to keep up much longer. He draws back again. It is time for the main course.

“You’re clean, I take it?” Connor asks, but he is least concerned about it. Hank has complained about being abstinent for as long as he can remember, and it is not because of a caught disease.

Hank lifts his face to answer, “I wouldn’t be doing this with you if I wasn’t.”

Still, Connor quirks a brow in amusement, but does not retort. He plans to fuck the sass out of Hank Anderson. He squirts some more lube into his palm, stroking over his throbbing member perfunctorily.

“Ready?” He lines himself up against Hank’s prepped entrance.

Hank nods into the pillows, the muscles in his back flexing as he grinds his body back on Connor’s.

“Do it, boy,” he says, sticking to what he knows. When he hears Connor keen, he continues, “Unless you’re having second thoughts.”

Connor grits his back molars. “I would never,”

And, with that, he makes the first thrust in.

A high, drawn out moan whittles out from Hank’s pharynx from the initial breach. Connor is, by no means, small in size. Perhaps, it is from the lack of sexual encounters within the past decade, but Hank cannot deny Connor is a sizeable man. Even the toys he uses at home do not compare to Connor, more aimed at stimulating Hank’s sweet spots directly without the thrill of large girth stretching him to the maximum.

He does not know he has scrunched his face together and stopped breathing until Connor’s hands are on him, smoothing up and down his sides while he bottoms out. Hank takes a shuddering, deep breath in.

“You alright?” Connor tries to say, but he is stopped mid-way.

“Fuuuck,” Hank wheezes over Connor. “Fuckin’ move, boy.”

And, oh, Connor does not need to be told twice. He eases up, all the way until only the head of his cock is sheathed within Hank. Then, the man is shoving back in, all eight inches of length sliding to the hilt. It feels searing hot, snug and tight. Hank is so velvety soft on the inside, bright pink and squeezing around Connor like a vice.

He says as such, earning a breathy chuckle from Hank. He thrusts in again, and the laughter morphs into a sultry groan. Connor’s member is thickest towards the root, and it makes Hank’s lungs hitch every time the man ruts in. Their skin slaps together, slightly damp from the perspiration beginning to form on the surface. The air is stifling between them, though they are not facing each other, humid with their coupling.

Hank loses his grip on the bed when Connor grabs his hips and pulls him back onto his thick cock. He yelps, unable to regain his balance, and lets his torso sag into the mattress, face pressed flat against the pillow. His moans become muffled from the position. In the back of his mind, he wonders if he could accidentally smother himself this way. But Connor will not have it; without a moment’s thought, he pulls out of Hank.

“What—”

With incredible strength, Connor turns Hank onto his side, hoisting his hefty thigh to throw over his shoulder. Then, he is piledriving back in, growling deep as he bites back the urge to release. He knows that, if he was to let his bladder go lax only partially, the floodgates would open. There would be no stopping after, and it would leave him extremely wet and aroused. Surely, Connor would come straight after, and that was not the plan tonight. He wanted to watch Hank find purchase before he did.

Hank’s mouth is fixed in an open “o” as he breathes staggardly. Each one of Connor’s movements in punches ululations from his diaphragm. The steady grip on his waist throws him into a state of submission, holding him in place when his body is naturally curling in on itself from the pleasure.

Each aimed thrust to his prostate brings him ever closer to the cliffedge of orgasm. His vision becomes dazed, blurry around the edges, like Hank is intoxicated on the lust, passion and desire that courses through both Connor and him. His fingers twist in the bedsheets, unable to do anything more in their given position.

He feels as though he is about to pop, with the amount of force from the enormous dick that plunders inside his furled entrance. It is not so furled now, more stretched out and gaping as Connor fucks into him with deep strokes. Hank’s ocean eyes catch a glimmer of resolve cracking in the bar owner’s brown eyes as he licks his now dry lips.

“Lieutenant,” murmurs Connor, still thrusting hard and deep into the man. “God, you feel _so_ good for me. I must…” he trails off.

And, thank god, Hank is intelligent enough to pick up on his meaning. He rolls his hips, meeting Connor halfway. They undulate together in a silken figure-eight of sorts. Each pull and push slams their bodies together, connecting them so closely that Hank does not know where he ends and Connor begins. It feels as though they are meant for each other, molded to each other’s bodies.

The tidal wave is gaining speed, about to crash upon Hank in orgasmic ecstasy. His breathing becomes more labored, his eyes rolling to the back of their sockets. His eyelids flutter as he chokes out Connor’s name in warning. He is going to come _hard_.

Without touching Hank’s dripping, abandoned cock, he leans in and nips the shell of the man’s ear.

“I want you to squeeze down on me, as hard as you can, when you come, Hank,” he requests. “I want you to keep your ass tight for me as I spurt inside you. You better take it all. Be a good lieutenant.”

All Hank can do is nod, so wrapped up in the pleasure that racks his system that he cannot do much else.

Connor smiles, though the expression on his face is strained, as the words tumble from his mouth, “Now, come.”

Hank cannot resist.

The rush of orgasmic pleasure finally hits Hank like a blow between his eyes, making them cross as he finally comes. Hot white overcomes his sight and sound. He is hurled into a planeless dimension, almost floating in bliss as his mind goes blank for seconds. It is only after when he feels and hears his heart beat healthily beneath his rib, pumping life through his body. Slowly, he regains consciousness, right as Connor yells, allowing Hank’s leg fall from his strong shoulder. Connor slumps onto Hank in an awkward position, but the slick heat _in_ Hank signals what is happening.

It is strange. At first, all Hank can feel is Connor shivering against him, skin textured rough with goosebumps as he trembles. Then, a scorching wet fills Hank’s hole, like Connor is coming loads within him. However, even Hank himself can tell the fluid does not have the viscosity of cum. It dribbles out, leaks out of him like a running sink tap, and onto the sheets.

The bartender’s mind struggles to grapple the sudden realization:

Oh. Fuck.

Connor just relieved his bladder inside him.

Another load comes forth into Hank, but it is different than the others. It is denser, sticking to Hank in ways the golden liquid did not. Connor pants in his ear, trying to slow his heart rate. His body presses into Hank’s own, as if he is putting his full weight on the man now.

“Wow,” Hank finally croaks.

He realizes that they are like in the piss-soaked sheets. The liquid must be seeping into the mattress by now, and Hank wonders where they will sleep now, as he refuses to sleep on a urinated bed.

“Wow, indeed,” replies Connor. He is grinning, face so close to Hank’s.

Hank is the one to lean in suddenly, kissing Connor with a strength he did not know he still had. He feels thoroughly fucked out, muscles limber now, but will be stiff and sore in a few hours or so. Still, he revels in the afterglow, chest warm as he kisses the bar owner chastely.

“Can you stand?” Connor asks, his dick softening enough to slip from Hank’s passage.

Hank hisses at the emptiness he feels when Connor exits his body. “I’m fine, but I can’t say the same for your bed.”

“Huh?” Connor sits back on the bed, thinking. Then, “Oh, you think I wet the bed.”

Hank raises his eyebrows. “I wouldn’t put it like that, but yeah,”

Connor slides off the mattress, lifting the fitted sheet, letting the elastic corner of the bed cover snap back. Underneath it is another cover, a type of woven plastic, so dull and drab that it almost looks like a regular mattress.

“Don’t worry, Hank. I am three steps ahead of you.” Connor justifies, “This plastic cover from Bed, Bath and Beyond has saved my mattress more than once.” He reaches out with a hand, waiting for Hank to take it. When the man does, he lifts him onto his feet. “The bathroom is just further down the hallway, to the right. You can use anything you’d like in there.”

“What about you?” Hank has the guts to ask. “Aren’t you going to clean up?”

He cannot help but notice the way Connor’s eyes are stuck on his ass, where rivulets of combined semen and golden liquid drip from Hank’s cheeks.

“I will. But I need to clean up the bed,” he says, but the bar owner’s face conveys otherwise. What he would do to get into the shower with Hank. “You go first. I don’t want to keep you waiting.”

Hank sighs. Connor _does_ want to join him in the bathroom; he just will not say it.

“Then leave the bed waiting. It’s got a cover on it, does it not?” When Connor nods, about to protest, Hank says, “Come here, Connor. There’s a thing called saving water by sharing showers.”

Connor chuckles, “Oh, really?”

“It’s a thing in California, at least,” quips Hank, who is already pulling Connor out of the bedroom. “So, what do you say, boy?”

Hank finds Connor the most handsome when he smiles, like he is doing now. They have a lot to talk about concerning where they should go from here, but it can wait until after breakfast.

“Yes, lieutenant. I’d love to share a shower with you.”

Connor lets Hank lead the way, only to slap the retired lieutenant’s ass with a firm hand. _His_ lieutenant.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos, comments and critique are accepted here.
> 
> Big thanks to ALL OF YOU for giving love towards this short series! I cannot stress enough how much I love each and every one of you for being here and reading.
> 
> Find me on [Twitter](https://www.twitter.com/ra9ical).


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